From England with love

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It was my day off, and I was just sat at home,chilling
I'd cleaned up the house, and finished some drilling.
Pictures to hang that symbolized life,
The pictures I saw next cut through like a knife.
Mid afternoon, around two thirty-three
My youngest son grinning, was sat on my knee.
I glimpsed at the TV and strained to hear,
My stomach sank quickly with horror and fear.
The sadness that unfolded was tragic to watch,
And with child on my knee I grabbed for a 'Scotch'
Disaster, then Disaster appeared in my gaze
Then the shock set in,..then a 'Mania' phase.
Could this be happening or was it a dream
This was truly happening... or so it did seem.
SIX years on.... this day is here once again
And the sadness i felt then is here and will remain.
To those souls who died on this terrible day
my thoughts are with you, i would just like to say.


David

[ My father died 11 years ago on Fathers day. ]


Can i make it through this day, will my heart, and mind hold out
will the tears subside today, and if need be can i shout.
Will i be able to carry you aloft, inside your wooden box?
Will time stand still, no 'tick no tock' upon the church yard clock.
Will my eulogy to you, describe your life, and fill the church with tears.
Will the congregation share my loss, their you friends, your colleagues, your peers.
The time has arrived to say goodbye, with a rose in hand and a tear in the eye.
I wish you peace and rest forever, my one true friend, the best forever.
Let the church bells ring, and hearld you leaving this earth.
May the angels above prepare for your death, and the beauty of re-birth.


David

I know I am still with you
In your prayers, your thoughts, your heart.
And although you cannot see me,
I will always be a part
Of life's sweet celebrations
In those times when you reflect
On how, though things are different,
Through our love, we still connect.
We'll see each other someday
When are spirits are all free,
Until then, I am with you
Because you remember me.

Daddy, why are green's so good for us
Yet grass will make us sick.

Why do you hate chicken so much
Yet you still call Mummy 'Chick'.

Daddy, why will eating carrots, help me see more in the night.
I wouldn't have to eat them, if you left on my bedroom light.

Daddy, why do you let Father Christmas come down our chimney pot.
Mummy told me 'Dont go there! it's very, very hot'.


Daddy why will eating porridge help to make me grow.
Granddad's huge! and hates the stuff, he told me don't you know.

Daddy why does medicine taste so bad, but always makes you better.
And why do you always get bad news, inside a big brown letter.

Daddy why does eating burnt toast, send your hair all curly.
I really like the taste of it, but dont like Auntie Shirley.

Daddy why is it that big boys shouldn't cry.
I know that when i'm older, i will do, if you die.


David

i've seen some realy great poems on this site. I would like to share one i sent to my mother recently.




'You didn'nt invite him in; he just took it upon himself to stay.
you asked him patiently to leave ; he even listened to you pray.

He caused you so much anguish; he was always in your space,
And even though you sought to evict him, he ignored the saddness on your face.

He took advantage of your health he knew you hadn't the strengh to shun him.
He just planned to ware you down; this lodger was wicked and cunning.

Behind his back you sought more advice; you even prevented him bringing round friends,
You stoically ignored his presence; you even fed him to make amends.

You never wanted him to see you down; you bravely tried to ignore him with a scowl.
But your mood towards him was changing, this lodger was crude and foul.

Your secret meetings behind his back were calculated and well thought.
This evil squatter, come lodger, was convinced he could stay, and not be caught.

Then twelve months later, after he rudely invaded your home, your life, your space.
This rogue tresspasser, was about to be put firmly and rightfully in his place.

On the 12th of June 2007 , when your health was at its peak, you suddenly got the
ANSWER

You went to hospital, with faith in God, and a Surgeon evicted,
BREAST CANCER.


David

TenaLouise

Thank for starting this thread.

Poetry has always been a huge part of me.

I often wake up with a line in my head, then never use it for months.

Poetry expresses the soul.

Thank you

David

I love reading poetry...
I believe it is therapeutic and healing -
It has a very human connection involved in all of life...
also dear david~
my mom had breast cancer, -
my eldest sister was just given a cancer free diagnosis, she did not choose chemo, she chose alternative therapy,

lysine the amino acid and high vitamin C - has been proven anti cancer therapy that works,
my sister was told by the oncologist she had less than 2 years to live if she didn't take the chemo, and she didn't
today her oncologist discharged her because he read the tests and
which revealed my sister was cancer free -
the doctor - he was abit freaked out wanting to know what she did
to rid herself of 3 rd stage cancer -metastatic cancer...

and she said - she prayed - changed her entire life style -macro biotic diet etc...
take care of you dear david...

Have you ever been down to my countree
Where the trees are green and tall?
The days are long and the heavens are high,
But the people there are small.
There is no work there; it is always play;
The sun is sweet in the morn;
But a thousand dark things walk at night
In the land where I was born.

john shaw neilson

Darkness and ocean surround my ship
forty fathoms deep below.

I await the enemy above approach
to take away my soul.

Torpedoes locked in place for fire
as time ticks slowly by

Depth charges all around me now
exploding as they dive

They seek out the metal coffin
but never will they find

I'm set for silent running still
from the sweeper of my mind.


Cloyde F.Coffman, Jr.

And yet, wouldn't it be welcome
at the end of each ordinary day?
The audience could be small,
the theater modest. folding chairs
in a church basement would do.
Just a short earnest burst of applause
that you got up that morning
and, one way or another,
made it through the day.

You soaped up in the steaming
shower, drank your Starbucks
in the car, and let the guy with the
Windex wipe your windshield
during the long red light at Broad Street.
Or maybe you were that guy,
not daring to light up
while you stood there because
everyone's so down on smoke these days.

Or you kissed your wife
as she hurried out the door, even though
you were pretty sure she was
meeting her lover at the Flamingo Motel,
even though you wanted to grab her
by a hank of her sleek hair.

Maybe your son's in jail.
Your daughter's stopped eating.
And your husband's still dead
this morning, just like he was
yesterday and the day before that.
And yet you put on your shoes
and take a walk, and when a neighbor
says Good moring, you say
Good morning back.

Would a round of applause be amiss?
Even if you weren't good.
If you yelled at your kid,
poisoned the ants, drank too much
and said that really stupid thing
you promised yourself you wouldn't say.
Even if you don't deserve it.

****************

by Ellen Bass The Human Line